


Miss Holmes (OLD VERSION)

by ladymac111



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Furniture Shopping, Gen, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Original Character(s), Parentlock, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS IS THE OLD VERSION OF THIS STORY.  PLEASE READ THE NEW VERSION INSTEAD!</p><p>I am maintaining this version in its current form for the sake of completeness, but I may be deleting it in the future.</p><p>In his early twenties, Sherlock was perhaps a bit more trusting than he should have been.  Now, his carelessness has an attitude, a Facebook page, and nowhere else to turn.</p><p>Established Sherlock/John.  Past Sherlock/OFC.  Same 'verse as the "And The Rest Is History" series.</p><p>Most chapters are PG-13.  Chapter 5 has non-explicit sex.  Chapter 7 is explicit sex (not relevant to the overall plot).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Alexa came to me in a dream the night after I wrote "We're Catching An Early Train". It took me a couple of days to figure out how to make her happen without totally destroying Sherlock's character -- he's just not parent material.
> 
> This is mostly Gen, though Sherlock and John are married (following the events of the ATRIH series -- there's not much else you need to know in case you don't want to read that) and there's a bit of sex and naughty language.
> 
> Many huge thanks to the lovely ihnasarima for helping me take the things my brain dreamed up and make them into something that makes sense. This is for you.

To: Mr Sherlock Holmes  
221B Baker Street  
London

From: Ms Jane Bradbury  
formerly of Bristol

Dear Sherlock,

As I write this, I know I am nearing the end of my life. By the time it is posted, I will have lost my battle with ovarian cancer. I write to you, not because you care about such things – I know you don't – but in regard to another matter in which I regret you must be involved.

I imagine you remember our encounter fourteen years ago. I regret to inform you that I intentionally deceived you: I was not using birth control, and I conceived a child. I had been watching you for a time, and decided that you were the right father for the child I wanted. The child – your daughter Alexa – has just turned thirteen. I never sought to inform you because I saw you merely as a source of genetic material, but now that I am about to die, I am faced with the unfortunate truth that you are the only family Alexa has who is capable of taking care of her. She is staying temporarily with my mother, but a teenage girl living in a retirement facility is not a feasible long-term arrangement.

Alexa knows that you are her father – she made the connection herself when you became famous. You are listed as her father on her birth certificate, and Holmes is her middle name. To see her, your paternity is certain, though of course you may have a test done if you doubt it.

With this in mind, I come to the point of my letter. I would like you to foster Alexa. You are of course free to say no, but in my romantic fantasies I see you stepping into your role as her father, and I hope that you two can be a family in my absence. She is curious to meet you, and receptive (hesitantly, if I am to be honest) to the idea of living with you. I offered her emancipation, but she rejected it and I don't think she is capable of living on her own. If you decline to foster her, or if it doesn't work out, I have done what I can to ensure that you are not responsible for her in any way, but one can never be certain.

Alexa is a wonderful young woman, as intelligent and headstrong and charismatic as her father, and thankfully a bit less mercurial. I hope that you will try to be a part of her life and spare her the ordeal of being forced into the foster care system.

Yours,

Jane.

 

~~~

 

John blinked at the letter, trying to absorb everything. He glanced over at Sherlock, who was scowling out the window with his violin on his shoulder, but the bow hung limp at his side.

He dropped the paper to the table and sighed. “So you have a kid.”

The bow flew through the air and scraped a few angry notes before Sherlock dropped the violin on his armchair, stalked across the room, and threw himself on the couch. “So it seems.”

“And … this woman, what she's saying … it's true?”

“As far as I can tell without a DNA test, yes.”

“So … you … with her?”

“Don't be an idiot, John, of course I did.”

John turned in the chair to look at Sherlock, who was glaring at the ceiling. With a sigh, he turned back to the letter on the table. “Fourteen years ago … you would have been at Uni?”

“Just graduated.”

“Ah.” John's mouth went dry, and he licked his lips before he spoke again. “So she was the one you experimented with.”

“For god's sake!” Sherlock launched off the couch and into the kitchen, where he clattered glassware around on the table with his back to the living room.

John had had enough. “Stop acting like a child! We have to decide what to do about this.”

“No we don't.” Sherlock rattled some more things together, then slammed a cupboard. “I was declared dead once. I could go back to being dead.”

“No, you couldn't.”

“Yes I could. Mycroft could make it happen.”

“But he _wouldn't_ , Sherlock. You can't run away from this. You have to make a decision. Either you become a part of Alexa's life, or you leave her to the system. And if you do that, you never know if someone is going to get on your case and force you to take some kind of responsibility for her. It seems like your paternity is pretty well proven.”

“John!” Sherlock whirled on him, and his eyes were cold. “I _cannot_ deal with this right now. So leave. It. Alone.”

“All right. Fine.” John got up and took his coat off the back of the door. “Just don't forget that legally, I'm a part of this too, since you decided you wanted to marry me, and for some unfathomable reason I agreed. I'll be back when you've had a chance to be rational about this.”

He could imagine the look on Sherlock's face as he went down the stairs and out into the crisp autumn, but he didn't turn around to confirm it.


	2. Call Me Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock meet Alexa for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit that I don't know anything about the foster care system anywhere, so everything with regard to that is totally made up. Also, none of this is beta-ed or Brit-picked, so please don't hesitate to comment on anything boring like that, I like to be correct!
> 
> I have no idea often this will be updating. I'm just following my muse.

Sherlock was fidgeting, and it was driving John up the wall. It was almost four o'clock, and Alexa was scheduled to arrive any minute with her mother's friend and lawyer, who was chaperoning their first meeting at the coffee shop in Bristol.

John snatched Sherlock's phone from his hand when he got it out for the seventh time.

"Hey!”

“It won't make it go any faster, and you being twitchy is making me nervous.”

“Well that's hardly my fault.”

“Grow up, Sherlock.”

“Why, because I fathered a child I suddenly have to change who I am?”

John rolled his eyes. “Christ, Sherlock, I'm going to have my hands full, aren't I?”

Sherlock crossed his arms indignantly. “What does _that_ mean?”

“Well it's just that you're as dramatic as a teen girl, so having two in the house would be … well. Interesting.”

Sherlock smirked. “I know you, John, and you live for  _interesting_ .”

“Fair enough.” John hid his smile behind his coffee cup, but put it down suddenly. “That must be them.”

A professionally-dressed woman opened the door, and walked in from the early December cold with a young teenage girl. Her wavy black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, showing off her fair complexion, high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes. Any doubts John might have had evaporated – this girl was  _definitely_ Sherlock's daughter. He made a mental note to tell Sarah they wouldn't be doing the paternity test after all.

The men rose to their feet as the women came over, and Alexa's eyes were wide as she took them in.

John extended his hand to the woman. “Doctor John Watson.”

“Cora Flynn. I'm Jane Bradbury's lawyer and a family friend. I've known Alexa since she was a little girl.” She turned her gaze to Sherlock. “And Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Sherlock took her offered hand. “Thank you. I'm glad you decided to meet with us.” He turned to the girl, and hesitantly held out his hand. “Alexa.”

She took it, equally timid. “Mr. Holmes.”

Cora put a hand on Alexa's shoulder. “Can I get you a hot chocolate?”

"Yes please.”

As Cora went to the counter, Sherlock gestured to the seats across the table, and they sat. “ _Mr. Holmes_ is my brother Mycroft. Your uncle Mycroft, I suppose. I'm Sherlock.”

The corner of Alexa's mouth turned up wryly. “No offence, but that seems … I don't know, wrong. Too familiar.”

Sherlock seemed startled into silence, so John picked up. “What would you like to call him?”

She shrugged. “Well … ever since I found out about you a couple years ago, I've thought of you as … Dad.”

Sherlock paled, and John put a hand on his shoulder. “You've had a bit longer to get used to it then we have. We only got your mother's letter last month.”

Alexa observed the contact between the two men with an expression John knew all too well. “And you, Dr. Watson. What would you like me to call you?”

“Well, I ...” John swallowed. “Just … John, I suppose.”

Alexa smirked and leaned forward on her elbows. “There's nothing to hide here. What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my father?”

“Clever girl,” Sherlock murmured with a chuckle.

John gaped, and was rescued momentarily when Cora returned with a chocolate for Alexa and something large and dark for herself. “Ooh, you've asked them?”

John frowned. “You see?  _Everyone_ talks.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I know.”

“Well?” Alexa prodded.

The two men exchanged a glance. “She's your daughter, you answer her.” John crossed his arms in resignation and sat back.

Sherlock bit his lip and studied his coffee before he took a slow breath. “John and I were married six months ago. It's a cliché, but we eloped to Gretna Green.”

Alexa grinned. “Sounds romantic.”

John's eyebrows raised. “So … you don't mind that we're … a couple?”

Her brow furrowed. “Why would I mind?”

“Oh, no reason.” He lifted his cup. “Things are a bit different than when Harry came out, I guess.”

“Harry?”

“My older sister, Harriet. She's a lesbian. Actually just got together with an ex-girlfriend of mine.”

“Sounds fascinating.” She took a sip of her cocoa, and John realized with more than a little relief that the silence wasn't uncomfortable. “So you're my dad's husband. You never mentioned it on your blog.”

“You follow my blog?”

She rolled her eyes. “Half the  _world_ follows your blog.”

“Yeah, well, that's why I didn't mention it.”

“It's a secret?”

“It's private,” Sherlock said. “The people who know are those who deserve to. Everyone else should find a better hobby.”

“There can be advantages to following the gossip.”

“Such as?”

Alexa grinned at him. “It's cute that you think I'll just tell you. That's no fun.”

Cora caught John's eye. “Yeah, she's always like this.”

“God knows I'm used to it by now.”

“How long have you been together?”

The two men glanced at each other before John spoke. “Together … how? We got married just six months ago.”

“Yes, but you've been flatmates much longer. How long have you known each other?”

“It was nearly five years ago when we met,” John said. “I moved in the day after we met, but we hit it off immediately and I considered Sherlock my best friend after a few months. Then he went and played dead for a year and a half. Nearly killed me.”

“As far as the romance, that's a tricky question,” Sherlock cut in, changing the subject. “It's … well, complicated. We both danced around it for a long time after I came back, and then everything happened rather quickly.” He smiled into his coffee. “We got married less than twelve hours after our first kiss.”

“And since then?” Cora prompted.

“Things have been pretty great, actually. A bit rough at first,” John admitted, “getting used to the new nature of our relationship. But it's all been good. I'm not exaggerating when I say it's been the best six months of my life.”

“It sounds like life has been pretty good for you two recently,” Cora said. “But it also sounds like you're still finding your feet, in a way.”

“Not really,” John said. “As much as we've had a really big change recently, it was a long time coming, and the foundation had been there for years.”

“Had you ever considered having children?”

“Never,” Sherlock said, but there was a hint of sadness on his face as he made eye contact with Alexa.

“I did, when I was younger, and dating women,” John said. “But then I got older, and living with Sherlock, and the way our life is, I'd given up on it. There was a bit of me that regretted that a little, but never enough to give up what we have.”

“You're trying to figure out if we're fit to be foster parents,” Sherlock said.

“Well, obviously,” Alexa scoffed.

“I should have known better than to try and be sneaky with a pair of Holmeses,” Cora muttered. “At any rate, it would be a month or so before your screening is finished, if you apply right away.”

“And what happens to Alexa in the meantime?” John asked.

“I'm staying with my grandmother. It's not perfect, but it works.”

“She's in a bit of a legal grey area,” Cora admitted. “For now. But eventually she will have to enter foster care, since she's declined emancipation.”

“So what sort of timetable are we looking at?” John asked. “How soon would we have to decide to foster her to … well, to keep things simple?”

“We don't want you to rush into anything,” Cora said. “And Alexa wants to finish the year at her school in Bristol, so to keep things streamlined it would be best if you could make a decision by the end of February. That will give us plenty of time to do all the necessary checks and get her into a London school.”

Sherlock released a breath. “That's a rather generous amount of time. It would give us some time to get to know one another as well.”

“That's rich, from you,” Alexa said with a smirk. “Moving in with John after you'd known him for a day?”

“I did save his life that day,” John said quickly.

“John, I like her,” Sherlock said. “I want one.”

“I think it's a good idea for us to spend more time together,” John said. “I was an adult, and I could have moved out at any time. We need to be really sure about this.”

“Spoil sport.”

“Sherlock!”

“It's fine, it's fine.” Cora smiled. “The holidays are coming up. That will be a great opportunity for some family time.”

“Your grandmother won't miss you for Christmas?” Sherlock asked.

Alexa sighed. “She'll say she will, but she doesn't mean it. We're not really close.  She never approved of what Mum did but she's too polite to say anything.”

“Well, I'm happy to endorse further contact between you,” Cora said. “You two are clearly not degenerates or psychopaths. You can trade contact information, but do keep me in the loop.” She leveled a stern gaze at Alexa. “And I'll know if you don't. Your grandmother trusts me.”

Alexa rolled her eyes as she took out her phone. “I have your numbers already.” She noticed Cora's shocked look. “It's on the internet!”

Cora sighed and finished her coffee. “Of course.”

“I just texted you both. Are you on Facebook?”

John tried very hard not to feel his age as he fished his phone from his jacket pocket. “Um, no. Not that savvy, I'm afraid.”

They finished the entries in their phones just as the women had their coats back on. “Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, very nice to have met you,” Cora said, and shook both their hands.

“And you,” John replied.

“Alexa,” said Sherlock, extending his hand.

She took it without hesitation. “Sherlock.”

His smile was almost shy. “You can call me Dad.”


	3. Fast Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa arrives from Bristol to spend Christmas with Sherlock and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added this chapter in so we can get a bit more character/relationship development for Sherlock&John&Alexa, get to see them bonding a bit rather than just talking about it. Hope it makes things flow better!

John heard Sherlock's key in the front door, and a little thrill of panic went through him as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, helplessly looking for a place to put the two flasks of _something_ that Sherlock had left out on the table.

“Hello!” he heard Mrs Hudson coo from downstairs. “You must be Alexa.”

“This is Mrs Hudson, our landlady.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure's all mine, dear. Sherlock, do you boys need anything? I'm going out to do some shopping.”

There was a rustle of Sherlock taking off his greatcoat. “Pick up some biscuits, and join us for tea when you get back?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. Why don't you two get upstairs, I'm sure John is eager to see you.”

John was not particularly eager. _Terrified_ was a better description. He finally shoved the flasks behind the kettle _(they don't smell; it's okay)_ and dashed into the sitting room to scoop up the small mountain of papers on the table.

“John, what are you doing?”

John whirled, dropping half the pile. “Um … I'm … straightening up?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow before turning set the duffel bag he was carrying on the steps going up. “Why? I already did, before I left.”

Alexa came into view, carrying a backpack. John gave her a nervous smile. “Because you did a terrible job and we have company. And the party tomorrow night.”

Sherlock sighed and surveyed the room. “That's not until tomorrow. And put those papers back down, I have to file them anyway.”

John found himself unable to move. Finally Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to Alexa. “We'll let him be for a few minutes. Your room is upstairs. It was John's at first, until we started sharing. We've been storing things there and we tried to tidy up but we can find another place for them if they're in your way.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine.”

“Nonsense. We want you to be comfortable here. You shouldn't feel like you're sleeping in an attic. Though it does get cold at night, sometimes. Old building, you know. And the old fireplace is filled in. I don't know how John managed it for so long; I was up here for a bit and I hated it. If you want to stay we can get a space heater or something. In the meantime Mrs Hudson has some extra quilts--”

“Really, Dad, it's fine.” There was a prolonged silence, during which John came back to himself and dumped the papers on the table again. _Sherlock's problem, not mine_. With a weary sigh he toed off his shoes and flopped onto the couch with a magazine.

“It's lovely.” Alexa's voice floated down the stairs. “Much nicer than Gran's.”

Sherlock's feet shuffled on the floor, and John smiled. “Yes, well. Mrs Hudson helped.”

 

Sherlock had given Alexa a tour of the flat (“The loo; it doesn't lock so be sure it's latched. Our bedroom, no need to go in there. The kitchen, of course. Be sure to wipe down any surface you're planning to make food on, I do experiments sometimes. And the sitting room, which is generally safe. Please don't move my skull.”) and filed his papers by the time Mrs Hudson got back, and the four of them sat down to tea with a truly heroic variety of biscuits. “I didn't know what you like,” she explained to Alexa.

“I like everything!” the girl said, helping herself to several. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thanks, Mrs H,” John added. The tea was kicking in and he was starting to feel human again.

“So tell me about you, Alexa,” Mrs Hudson said. “Sherlock hasn't said much.”

“There isn't much to tell, really,” she said. “My life is pretty boring. I go to school, I do homework, I practice the violin.”

“You play the violin?” Sherlock was suddenly very interested, and Alexa flinched just a little.

“Um, yeah. I play with the orchestra at school.”

“Do you take lessons?”

“Not for a while. My teacher said I'd outgrown him and gave me some recommendations for teachers here in London, but then Mum … well. So I stopped doing lessons and I just play.”

Sherlock looked like he was about to start babbling with excitement, so John interrupted. “Sherlock plays a lot. It helps him to think.”

“It's the opposite for me,” Alexa said. “I do it like a meditation. I let myself get swept up in the music and the world falls away.”

“We should play together sometime,” Sherlock said. “I have an old duet book from when I was in school.”

Alexa grinned. “I bet I have the same book. Next time I'll bring my violin.”

“You can borrow mine while you're here, if you like,” Sherlock offered.

John gawked at him. “You don't even let _me_ touch your violin!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in his customary _it's obvious_ expression. “You have no idea what you're doing with it. It's actually nothing like a clarinet.”

John grumped quietly, and Mrs Hudson refilled his tea cup. “What are you studying in school?” she asked.

“Just the usual,” Alexa said. “A bit of everything. I'm particularly fond of maths, though.”

“Good for you,” Mrs Hudson said. “When I was a girl, they didn't like us doing that sort of thing.”

“It was never my strong suit,” John said. “I managed just enough to get into medicine. What about you, Sherlock?”

He waved an elegant hand dismissively. “I learned enough to do well in school, and then deleted most of it. Not much need for calculus in my line of work.” He caught Alexa's expression. “Not _much_ , but not none. No need to get upset, I've still got the basics.”

“Let's play a game,” John interrupted. “Do you like board games, Alexa?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But all the ones at the old folks' home are so _boring_. What have you got?”

John stood up and went over to the cupboard. “Um … Cluedo – NO,” he said firmly, before Sherlock could speak. “I thought you binned that?”

“ _You_ binned it,” Sherlock said, primly sipping his tea. “I rescued it.”

“Well, we're not playing it. What else … Monopoly, konane, go, chess, Carcassonne, Risk, and Settlers of Catan.”

“Ooh, Carcassonne!” Alexa said. “I've never played that but I've heard it's excellent.”

John removed the box and brought it to the table. “Which expansions shall we use?” Sherlock asked.

“Maybe it's better to just do it normal, while Alexa's learning it,” John said.

“Oh no,” she said. “I hear it's pretty easy. I can handle a little complexity, I think.” She inspected the box for a moment. “A dragon! Let's do the one with the dragon.”

Sherlock and Alexa started unpacking the box, and John sighed. “You staying, Mrs H?”

“If you like,” she said. “I think I'll make another pot of tea while we're setting up, I know I'll need it to get through this game.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” John said. Sherlock had the rule sheet out and was talking a mile a minute, Alexa hanging on his every word and occasionally nodding enthusiastically.

The game went rather quickly, John thought. Alexa seemed to know exactly what she was doing, and by the time John laid the last tile she and Sherlock were tied for the lead, with John and Mrs Hudson a distant third and fourth. They took the tea things into the kitchen, leaving the other two to calculate the points for farms and figure out the winner. John had just started washing the dishes when he heard Alexa's squeak of delight. “I won!”

“Only because I terminated that road,” Sherlock said.

“Wait, you _let_ me win?”

“Only a bit.” John could hear the smile in Sherlock's voice. “It was partly for John's benefit, too. He gets frustrated when I win by too much. Next time I won't hold back, I guess.”

Alexa laughed. “You'd better not! I don't remember the last time I had a worthy opponent at a game.”

“Haven't you got any friends to play with?”

“Haven't really got many friends at all,” Alexa said, and John recognized the tone of nonchalance with hidden remorse. “I had one, Marie. But she moved to Islington two years ago when her parents split up. We're still in touch but we don't see each other much, just sometimes when she comes to stay with her dad.”

“Islington's only three miles from here,” Sherlock said.

Alexa gasped. “Oh my god, I didn't realize!”

“Sherlock,” John warned.

“What?” His husband was indignant. “It's just a fact.”

“I can't believe I didn't realize it myself,” Alexa said.

John shared a look with Mrs Hudson. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay? She's not moving in yet. This is just for Christmas.”

Sherlock put on a show of being chastened, so John let it go and dried his hands. “Anyone fancy another game?”

“I've got to be going,” Mrs Hudson said. “But I'll see you boys tomorrow afternoon.” She squeezed John's shoulder on her way to the steps. “I hope those two don't wear you out.”

“They have already. But I can't seem to say no to Holmeses.”

Mrs Hudson chuckled as she left, and John went back into the sitting room where Sherlock was arranging a game of Set. John sighed – he probably wouldn't score _any_ points this time.

They played five times, and John was pretty pleased with his performance overall, once he started ignoring the conversation about the statistics of the game that Sherlock and Alexa were having while simultaneously picking up point after point. When the fifth game ended, he glanced at his watch. “Six already. You guys hungry?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Not really.”

“I am,” Alexa said. “What's the plan for dinner?”

“I thought we could go out tonight,” John said. “Angelo's?”

Sherlock perked up at that. “It's been a while, hasn't it? And he won't be open tomorrow.”

“Should we head out then?”

“Food's better around seven,” Sherlock said, and John didn't bother asking why.

Alexa did, though. John half listened to the lengthy explanation while he retrieved his novel and settled down in his chair. “That's brilliant,” she said, when he had finished.

“Really?” Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised, John smiled to himself. That was him, five years ago.

“Yeah, it was fantastic!” Alexa said. “Do you do that all the time? Notice stuff and figure things out, I mean.”

“It _is_ my job,” Sherlock said. “My life's work is to see what others don't and make the connections they can't.” He shuffled the deck of cards and started setting them out again. “Shall we?”

The next hour passed quickly, John reading his book, Sherlock and Alexa talking about the science of deduction while picking up cards at a lightning pace. When seven arrived they packed up and put on their coats, and Sherlock put his phone to his ear as John pulled the door shut. “Yes, hello, Angelo, it's Sherlock. Yes, it has been a while. No – no, three tonight. Yes, three. By the window is great. See you soon.”

Angelo himself opened the door for them when they arrived. “Sherlock, John! Great to see you.”

“Angelo,” Sherlock said, “this is Alexa, my daughter. Alexa, Angelo. I helped him out a few years back.”

Angelo ushered them to the table in the window – already set with a candle and a bottle of John's favourite pinot noir -- and set down the menus. “Didn't know you had a daughter.”

“Neither did I,” Sherlock said, taking off his coat. “But these things happen.”

Angelo laughed. “Yeah, they do, don't they? Your dad's a fine man, Alexa. And if there's anything you want isn't on the menu, let me know.” He clapped John firmly on the shoulder before leaving them and returning to his kitchen.

“Helped him out how?” Alexa asked.

Sherlock lowered his voice a bit below the restaurant noise. “He was a suspect in a murder case. I proved his alibi.”

“Which was?”

“At the time of the murder, he was involved in a burglary elsewhere in London.”

Alexa giggled, and John smiled as he poured wine for himself and Sherlock. “We had our first date here,” he said.

“I thought you said it wasn't a date,” Sherlock challenged, swirling his wine before taking a sip.

“I did say that. In retrospect, though, I was wrong. Even though you rejected what you thought was me flirting with you.”

“It was the day after we met,” Sherlock said. “We were on a stakeout.”

“Ooh, romantic.”

John laughed. “Yeah, nothing says romance like chasing a cab for half a mile and then running from the cops.”

“Oh, that was A Study in Pink!” Alexa said.

Sherlock cringed, and John beamed. “You really have read the blog."

“Not until recently, but yeah, I've read the whole thing. Pretty fantastic stuff you two get up to.”

“It's not all as grand as John makes it out to be,” Sherlock said. “He has a flair for the dramatic.”

“That's rich, coming from you,” John scoffed

“Now that I'm actually getting to know you,” Alexa said, “I'm believing the blog more and more. I assumed there was a lot of hyperbole, but I think it's actually pretty accurate.”

“Thank you,” John said, and raised his glass to Alexa, who smiled and clinked her water against it.

Sherlock was stunned into silence, at least for a few minutes.

They lingered over dinner, then dessert and coffee, laughing and sharing stories about John and Sherlock's adventures, and the smaller-scale (but no less interesting) minor scandals that went on in the world of teenagers in Bristol. It was ten by the time they left, and Alexa and John were both yawning.

“What, tired so early?” Sherlock teased.

John shoved him gently with a shoulder as he turned his coat collar up against the icy rain that was coming in sideways. “I'm stuffed with pasta, wine, and that chocolate cake that you just couldn't live without, of course I'm tired. It's been a long day, too.”

“You're not the one who took the train to Bristol at an ungodly early hour.”

“Nine in the morning is not ungodly early. And _you're_ not the one who spent that entire time trying to make the flat presentable.”

“It _was_ presentable.”

“No it wasn't.”

“Okay, fine, enough,” Alexa said, worming her way in between the two men to get out of the wind. “Nine is early and the flat wasn't presentable, unless nine _isn't_ early and the flat _was_ presentable.”

“I've either had too much or not enough wine to understand that,” John said, putting an arm around her shoulders. They all giggled as they turned the corner back onto Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Board games.  
> Konane (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konane) is a really neat game, it's essentially Hawaiian checkers. Can be very difficult if you have a good opponent (Sherlock usually wins, but considers John a worthy opponent, if only for the random element he creates).  
> Settlers of Catan (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Settlers_of_catan) is one that my friends like, but I've only played once and I found it really frustrating.  
> Carcassonne (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carcassonne_%28board_game%29) is one of my favorite board games – you build the French countryside and get points for cities, roads, farms, etc. The farm component of the game is very tricky and takes a lot of strategy, and there's lots of room for getting super-competitive, especially if you play with the expansions so there's a lot going on.  
> Set (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Set_%28game%29) is also easy to learn, but very difficult to become good at, and unless you take turns it's pretty unfair for people who don't spot patterns easily. I imagine Sherlock plays it by himself when he's bored and does timed challenges or something.


	4. Best Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa spends Christmas with Sherlock and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited YET AGAIN 19 March 2014: minor tonal edits throughout. Trying to get John and Sherlock back in character.

John knew it wasn't just the mulled wine making him feel so warm inside. He watched from across the room as Sherlock hesitantly reached for Alexa, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. He held her gently for a moment before they released. “Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, Alexa.”

She started up the stairs, and Sherlock watched for a moment before he turned away from the door with a slightly dazed expression on his face. John felt like his heart was going to burst with happiness.

“She's lovely,” Molly said.

Sherlock blinked, coming back to the adults at their Christmas party. “She is.”

John smiled and put an arm around Sherlock's waist as he picked up his tea cup. “Sherlock's been on his best behaviour for her. Not even having any wine!”

Sherlock smirked. “I've been told I'm more of an arsehole when I drink.”

“I was wondering why you were so pleasant,” Greg said. “Trying to impress her?”

“She's hard to impress,” Sherlock said, sitting back down in his chair. “A lot like me, I suppose.”

“It's lovely that you're trying,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I didn't know what to expect when you told me you had a daughter, but I'm very happy that you're getting along. Family is so important.”

“I never thought I'd have one,” Sherlock murmured into his tea, before remembering himself and affecting a nonchalant tone. “Other than Mycroft, but he hardly counts.”

“Has Alexa met your brother yet?” Molly asked.

“He's coming for dinner tomorrow,” John said.

“Dear god,” Sherlock moaned, sinking into his chair. “Another thing I never thought I'd have to deal with again. Family Christmas dinners.”

“It's different when it's your house,” Greg said. “I always hated them at Mum and Dad's, but they were a lot better when my wife and I started hosting them. You have to do more work, but it's a lot easier to go hide, and you can always threaten to kick people out if things get nasty.”

“Speaking of dinner tomorrow,” John said, “have you got the goose yet, Mrs. Hudson?”

“You're making her cook for you?” Greg said in disbelief.

“Oh, not making!” Mrs. Hudson assured him. “I offered. I know these boys can barely boil an egg. And yes, I picked it up this morning.”

“We'll have to learn to cook if Alexa comes to live with us,” Sherlock said. “Unless it turns out she's good at it.”

“Sherlock, how awful!” Molly scolded.

“A lot of things will have to change if Alexa comes to live with us,” John said softly, swirling what remained of the mulled wine in his cup. “It's one thing to have her as a guest for the holidays when we're all doing our best to be pleasant. Her included, I'm sure. But I've been thinking a lot about it and I'm having a really hard time imagining how she would fit into the way we normally live. Running off at a moment's notice, suddenly going away for days at a time. That's no way to parent a teenage girl.”

“You're pretty stable,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Working regular hours at the clinic again. Compared to the way things were at first, you've both settled down a lot. And you know I'm willing to help out, when you need me.”

“I suppose. But if we apply to be foster parents, they're going to look at us with an uncomfortable level of scrutiny. And even if we had normal lives, we're a same-sex couple, and it shouldn't matter, but it does.”

There was a long silence before Molly cleared her throat. “You really want this to work, don't you?”

Sherlock nodded silently, avoiding everyone's eyes, and John rubbed a bit of moisture from his face with the heel of his hand. “I didn't think I would, but … suddenly I have the opportunity to be a father. An opportunity I thought I'd lost forever. And then a damaged girl drops into our laps, and we both fall in love with her. And I know I'm getting my hopes up, and I shouldn't, but ... I just want this _so much_. I want something that normal people have, but I don't want to lose this amazing special thing I have with Sherlock, and I don't see a way to have both.” He perched on the arm of Sherlock's chair and blinked hard. Why was he suddenly so worked up over this? “God, look at me. Three months ago we didn't know she existed.”

“And now we don't want to be without her,” Sherlock finished. They shared a look that was very nearly heartbroken.

After a tense beat, Molly set her glass down, and moved to crouch in front of them, one hand on Sherlock's knee and the other on John's. “Chin up. I've never known you two to fall down in face of a challenge. If anyone can find a way to make this work, it's you.”

John shook his head. “We're too unconventional.”

“No you're not! Not to her. Do you see the way she looks at you? She's a girl who's just lost her mother, and she's a horrible mess emotionally, but you're not just a chance at stability for her. She doesn't like you because she's desperate. She likes you because she likes you. She's seen how bad things are, how bad things can be for you, if only from a distance. She remembers Sherlock's disappearance, and she still wants to be a part of your lives.”

“I still haven't forgiven you for that, by the way,” John said with a sniffle. Sherlock produced a handkerchief and gave it to him.

Molly tried to smile. “I don't blame you. But my point is, Alexa's not just any thirteen-year-old girl.”

“Thirteen and a half!” Sherlock said in a perfect imitation, and the tension in the room shattered as everyone failed to stifle their varied giggles.

“She's smart. She's _really_ smart. She knows what she needs, and she knows you can give it to her.” Molly stood with a smile. “What did you get her for Christmas?”

“Oh gosh, that.” John wiped his nose and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. “Her grandmother said she's been _begging_ for an e-reader, so we got her one of those and a whole bunch of classics. I hope it's the model she wanted.”

“She'll love it,” Sherlock said. “You're terrible at hiding things, John. She found it while you were getting the shopping.”

John's jaw dropped. “And where were you?”

“Playing the violin. I pretended not to notice, but when she was done I told her she needs to be much sneakier when she's snooping in my house.”

“Just what I needed, a miniature you.” John got up and went to the kitchen to refill his mug with wine. “I hope you told her to pretend to be surprised, for my sake.”

“Oh, I didn't have to. She's very fond of you, John.”

“At least the feeling's mutual.” He took a sip of the wine. “Did she find the other one?”

“She knows better than to snoop in my socks. She's good, but she's not that good.”

“Or she's afraid of what she would find.”

“Either way, she hasn't gone into our bedroom.”

“What's the other one?” Greg asked.

Sherlock smiled nervously. “Not much, on the face of it. Just a bunch of papers.”

“Don't diminish it like that. It's a big deal.” John put his hand on his husband's shoulder. “Sherlock's offering to change her name, to make her a Holmes.”

Molly and Greg sported matching expressions, and Mrs. Hudson sat forward on her chair. “Sherlock, that's lovely.”

“I thought she was already named Holmes?” Greg said.

“It's her middle name,” John explained. “Alexa Holmes Bradbury. We're offering to shuffle it, Alexa Bradbury Holmes. I'm not sure how she'll take it though. It's only been a few months since she lost her mother. I don't know if she'll be willing to give up her name.”

“Besides which,” Sherlock said, “if she changes it but it turns out she can't live with us …”

“She knows the risk,” John said. “She won't rush into anything without thinking it through at least twice as well as anyone else.” He smiled and patted Sherlock's shoulder. “She's already a Holmes, even if it's not her surname.”

“Do you think she got you anything?” Molly asked.

“Thankfully, in that way she's _not_ a Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson said. “She asked me last week what you two would like. Her mother did a good job raising that girl, she's very considerate.”

“What was her mother like?” Molly asked, and the room fell silent as all eyes turned to Sherlock.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I only knew Jane for a couple of months. It was right after I graduated from university, and I was trying to figure myself out. She was several years older than me, and we were introduced by a girl who was in my class, and was apparently a close friend of hers. Now that I know the whole truth, I'm sure she knew what Jane was looking for.” He sighed. “I was bored, and she was bright, and she knew how to get me interested. I'd been thinking of experimenting with sex anyway, and it was a relief to not have to try to find a partner on my own.”

John stood up. “Anyone for another drink?”

Sherlock smirked. “John hates this part; it makes him jealous. Jane said she would help me learn, that I could experiment with her, and she wasn't looking for a relationship or romance. In retrospect, I should have been suspicious, but there's no point in having regrets. We slept together regularly for about eight weeks, and then she stopped calling me, so I figured that was it and I went on with life. We didn't date, and I didn't get to know her very well, but she was an intellectual and she liked puzzles. She wasn't terribly dull, but I didn't miss her when she left.” He shrugged. “That's it. I didn't think of her again until we got the letter in October.”

“Someday we'll have to ask Alexa about her,” John said, coming back from the kitchen. “Not yet, though. It's still too soon.”

“I think she'll tell us herself when she's ready,” Sherlock said. “She's almost mentioned it a couple of times, but she changes her mind.”

“Poor girl,” Mrs. Hudson said. “She's been through an awful lot recently.”

“That reminds me, I want to be sure she's seeing a therapist,” John said.

“Really?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “You hate therapists.”

“I hate going to therapy, there's a difference. Besides, there's nothing wrong with me.”

“I've heard that before.”

“You don't disappear again and I'll be fine. But seriously, I think it would help her to have someone to talk to.”

“She already does.”

“She told you?”

“Please, John, I noticed. She goes to a good school, and they always have people. She's just lost her mother, so of course she'll be seeing someone, even if it's just the grief counsellor at the school. And I've seen her using coping mechanisms that she could only have learned from a mental health professional.” He turned to John. “You can say it if you want.”

John sighed. “All right, Mister Ego. That was pretty impressive.”

“Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't see it yourself. You're the one who's been to therapy.”

“Okay, enough talking about me. Anyone for a game of cards?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Greg perked up at the mention and the four of them set up around the table while Sherlock picked up his violin again. John glanced up to see him looking out the window at the snow that was beginning to fall. Sherlock's eyes slid sideways and met his, just as his bow met the strings and began to play his latest composition, a floating melody in a major key.

“Alexa's song,” John said softly.

Sherlock paused, and smiled. “I suppose it is.”


	5. Happy Christmas - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas morning, John and Alexa spend some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING CHANGE: R-RATED JOHN/SHERLOCK SEXYTIMES
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my Cumberbitches in the 221B group on Ravelry.

Short fingernails scraped up his back, and John bit into Sherlock's trapezius in an attempt to stifle his moan as he came. Finally he collapsed, breathless and sweaty on top of Sherlock, who had gone completely limp but was still gasping raggedly.

“Jesus Christ,” John breathed, carefully disengaging and flopping onto his side of the bed. “How the hell do you do that?”

The only reply was a deep chuckle, and John reluctantly got up and just remembered to put on his robe before he went into the bathroom to clean up.

Cleaning up turned into a rather long shower, and by the time he got back to their bedroom Sherlock was cocooned in blankets and drooling on his pillow. John took a long moment to appreciate the sight, then pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt before stuffing his feet into slippers and shuffling out into the hall.

The smell of freshly-brewed coffee hit him first, and then he noticed Alexa in Sherlock's chair, knitting away at something in rainbow stripes. “Good morning,” she said. “I started the coffee when I heard you get in the shower.”

He blinked, still not quite awake, and managed to say “Thanks” as he shuffled into the kitchen, found a clean mug, and poured a cup. He took a tentative taste – not bad at all. Actually better than when Sherlock made it. He went back into the living room and sat in the chair opposite her. “Since when do you know how to make coffee?”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that like it's some sort of complicated process. Filter, grounds, water, press button. Boom, coffee.”

“Well, typically without the _boom_ ,” John said, taking another drink. “Except sometimes when your father makes it.”

Alexa smiled and made an amused sound, and her needles never stopped moving.

“What's that you're knitting?”

She held up the multicolored tube. “Hat for Uncle Mycroft. Think he'll like it?”

John wasn't sure what to say. The thing was endearingly atrocious. “I … I'm sure he'll love it.”

Alexa laughed and went back to knitting. “Dad was right; you _are_ a terrible liar.”

John flushed. “Fine. It's very nice, but he'll probably toss it in the fire ...” His eyes focused across the room, where a fire was burning merrily. “You lit the fireplace.”

“Again, not so difficult. People have been doing that much longer than they've been making coffee.”

John blinked and returned his gaze to her work. “Are you seriously going to give that to Mycroft?”

“Seriously, no. More like, it's a gag that he's not in on.”

“I see. I'll do my best to play along, shall I?”

“Thanks. I'm trying to make a first impression.”

“That'll be a first for him. Usually he's the one catching people off-guard. Did I ever tell you about the first time I met him?”

She shook her head, so he went on. “It was the day after I met Sherlock, actually. He had dashed off after a serial killer, so I was walking to try and catch a cab, and suddenly all the phones I passed started ringing. In a restaurant here, in a booth there, and they all stopped when I walked past or if someone else went to answer. Finally I picked one up, and I heard him on the other end – only I didn't know it was him yet – and he moved some security cameras and told me to get in the car that had just pulled up.”

Alexa's hands had stilled and she was looking at him with intense interest. “So you got in the strange car.”

He nodded. “Hard to refuse. It took me to this big empty warehouse where he was waiting for me, and he offered to pay me to spy on Sherlock, and made a bunch of insinuations about us, and generally freaked me out by knowing almost as much about me as Sherlock had deduced when we first met.”

“Did you take the money?”

“No, though Sherlock scolded me for it later. I didn't know who he was, but I had apparently decided that I was on Sherlock's side, so the car took me back here. Later that evening after we'd caught the murderer, he showed up again and had a little pissing match with Sherlock. That was when I found out who he was. Sort of an anticlimax.”

“I can imagine. I suppose you thought he was a criminal mastermind, like Moriarty or something.”

A chill ran through John, and he gripped his coffee cup with both hands. “Yeah, something like that.”

Alexa looked at him closely. “I've upset you.”

“It's just....” John sighed. “I don't like remembering Moriarty. He was the reason for the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

She nodded. “Dad's fake suicide.”

John wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Yeah. Plus, one time he strapped a bomb to me.”

“Really? What happened?”

“I think that's a story for another time,” John said, getting up to refill his coffee. “So you knit?”

She picked up the hat again. “Yeah. Gran taught me about a year ago. I like it, it's pretty amazing to take something essentially one-dimensional and manipulate it into something three-dimensional and useful, using only sticks and your wits.”

John chuckled. “I should have known it would be something like that. Not enough to find it calming, or to like the colours or the soft yarn?”

“I like those things too,” she said. “But they're not as interesting as topology.”

“Of course.” He watched her work for a few minutes while he drank his coffee. “Will that be done by the time he gets here at four?”

“Oh, sure. I'm practically done.”

“How long does one of those take?”

“Why, do you want one?”

“Maybe.”

“I've never timed it, but at this gauge, maybe eight hours? Ten?”

“So you've put rather a lot of time into something that you know he's going to hate.”

“Oh, I didn't start it as a gift for him. I started it for myself a couple months back. Gran and I went yarn shopping after Mum's funeral to cheer up a bit, and I fell in love with this. Knitting is really the only thing we have in common.” She stopped working, held the thing up to John's head, regarded it critically for a moment, and then resumed. “It just occurred to me a couple days ago that I could pretend to give it to Uncle Mycroft, and then when he hates it, I'll wear it myself and he'll leave it here. So I look like the sweet niece who made him something, even if it was misguided, and I get to keep my hat.”

John paused as her wall of words sank in. God, she was just like Sherlock, wasn't she? “That's the first time you've mentioned anything about your mum to me.”

She considered for a moment. “Yeah.”

John wasn't sure what to make of that. “I'm really glad you're spending Christmas with us. It's all a bit strange but we're happy you're here. Makes us feel like a proper family instead of just a couple of blokes and our landlady. Not that I didn't like that, but … you know what I mean?”

She nodded. “A bit. Christmas was never a big thing with Mum, and Gran is Jewish but she doesn't _do_ holidays. It's nice to feel like a normal kid.” She smirked. “Well, sort of, anyway. As normal as I can get. In the space of a few months I've gone from having a terminally ill single mother and a grandmother who doesn't like me, to now having two prospective dads, an uncle, and a Mrs. Hudson. And presumably another grandmother; I heard Dad mention 'Mummy' when he was on the phone with Uncle Mycroft.”

John chuckled. “Ah, yes. The infamous Mummy. I've only met her once myself, but she's been told about you and I hear she wants to meet you.” He finished the coffee in his cup. “Don't get your hopes up though. She's not exactly warm. Though Sherlock said she was extremely pleased to hear she had a grandchild.”

“I'm probably the heir of something.”

“Maybe. I've been with Sherlock for five years now and I'm still not sure what his family's deal is.”

“I suppose I'll find out eventually.”

John stood to get more coffee. “I suppose you will.”

The sat in companionable silence for a while longer, Alexa nearing completion on her hat, and John nearing completion on the pot of coffee. They both turned when the bedroom door opened, and a very groggy Sherlock appeared, wearing only a collection of darkening love bites down the entire length of his pale body.

“Dad!” Alexa exclaimed in horror.

“Sherlock! Company!”

He waved a dismissive hand at them, yawning widely as he went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Alexa smashed a cushion into her face. “Oh my god _._ I'm going to die.” She removed the cushion dramatically and glared at John. “Don't. Say. _Anything._ This never happened.”

He held up his hands in surrender and retreated quickly to the kitchen to brew another pot of coffee. That was one thing that would _definitely_ have to change with another person in the flat.

“Hard enough to ignore the moaning,” Alexa muttered under her breath.

John wanted to melt into the floor. He settled for making far more noise than necessary while he fixed breakfast for the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A visual: the hat Alexa's working on.
> 
> http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/ladymac111/13290817/15374/original.jpg


	6. Happy Christmas - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day with Sherlock, John, and Alexa.
> 
> Caution: syrupy sweetness ahead. Be sure to brush your teeth after.

“I suppose it's time for presents, yes?” Sherlock strolled into the kitchen and ignored the food John tried to offer him, instead making a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Not until you eat,” John insisted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he went for the sugar. “Not hungry.”

“Fine.” John marched over and plucked the mug from Sherlock's hands. “No coffee then, either.”

“John, what --”

“ _The great Sherlock Holmes_ doesn't need sustenance. He isn't held back by the limitations of a _mortal body_.” He set the coffee cup in the sink a bit harder than necessary and glared. “Sit down and eat your damn toast.”

Sherlock looked taken aback as he glanced between John, who was just shy of seething, and Alexa, who had paused with a spoonful of oatmeal halfway to her mouth and was staring at him in disbelief. With a dramatic sigh, he sat and took a huge bite. “May I have my coffee now, please?” he asked around a mouthful of toast.

John scrubbed his face with one hand before retrieving the mug. “How much sugar do you fancy today?”

“The usual.”

John scooped and stirred, then set the mug on the table. Sherlock let his fingers trail briefly across the back of John's hand before taking it himself. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. Eat up, we've got presents to open.”

Sherlock allowed himself a small smile and took a drink of coffee before raising his eyes to Alexa's, which were still fixed on him. “I would say this doesn't happen much, but that would be a lie.”

“He's much better than he used to be,” John added. “The day we met, he hadn't eaten in two days.”

“Digestion slows me down when I'm working,” Sherlock said.

Alexa smirked. “An oversimplification.”

“Oh?”

“I'm sure starvation mode doesn't do wonderful things for your mind.”

Sherlock “humpf”ed and John chuckled. “You have no idea how many times I've said that.”

“Don't try to change me, John,” Sherlock said, licking peanut butter off his thumb. “It won't work.”

“No, age is doing that for you well enough. You're thirty-five in two weeks, you know.”

“And you're thirty-nine in March.  Age is just a number.”

“You say that now. Wait till you throw your back out for the first time. I'll remember to laugh in your face while you're lying in a puddle and trying not to cry while the serial killer gets away.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Turnabout is fair play. I'm pretty sure the Hippocratic Oath has a footnote regarding impossible husbands.”

Sherlock stuck out his tongue and Alexa giggled. “We don't do too much running around anymore,” John admitted. “My little fall was sort of the nail in the coffin.”

“I didn't laugh in his face, by the way,” Sherlock added.

“No, you just kept running,” John said. “It would have been a little less insulting if you had caught him.”

“Do we have more toast?” Sherlock got up and rummaged on the countertop.

“It's on the table.”

“You can't end the story there,” Alexa insisted.

“I didn't catch him because he got out into a crowd while I was answering John's call.” Sherlock spread jam on another slice of toast. “Honestly, I didn't even notice when he went down. But I believe I was properly concerned when I came back and found you.”

John patted his shoulder. “Yes, well done, you. I don't believe I've ever seen you look quite so helpless.”

“Alexa, are you done? I think it's time for presents.”

John chuckled and put the dishes in the sink before joining the father and daughter in the living room. They had set up and decorated a small tree on the table at the end of the party the previous night, and a small collection of parcels were underneath it, including two very lumpy ones wrapped in brown paper. “Sherlock, why don't you be Father Christmas.” John arranged himself on the end of the couch opposite Alexa.

Sherlock studied the parcels under the tree for a moment, then picked one of the lumpy ones and handed it to John. “From Alexa. Are we going to guess this year?”

“Must we?”

Alexa grinned. “Oh, let's!”

John sighed and turned the package over in his hands. “You two have an unfair advantage. It's soft, but there are some hard bits. Pencils?” He shrugged. “I'm really bad at this.”

“Come on, John, you know my methods.”

John sighed. “This is officially a tradition now, isn't it?” He pulled the paper open, revealing a ball of blue and grey yarn and a pair of very small bits of knitted fabric. He stared at it for a long moment. [see end note for a visual]

“Guess!” Alexa prompted.

He picked up the knitted bits gingerly. They were tenuously connected by maroon wires and he was afraid he would do something to ruin it. “Well, ah … clearly it's knitted. And there are two. And I've never seen anything like it in my life.”

“I'll give you a hint,” she said. “They're not done.”

“I really have no idea.”

“Here, hold up your foot.” She took the work from him as he propped one foot on the coffee table, and slipped one of the things over the end of his toes. “Proto-socks! I'm sorry they're not done, but I only started last night. I think I can get them finished in about a month, but I don't know how big your feet are, so I'm not sure.”

John was speechless for a moment. “Alexa, I … thank you. No one's ever made me socks before.”

“You like the colour? It'll work up as stripes.”

“It's lovely. I'll be afraid to wear them, in case I ruin them.”

“They'll be hard to ruin, I promise. And I can always make more.” She looked over at Sherlock, who was watching them with unmistakable fondness on his face. “Do yours now.”

He took the other brown package off the table. It was larger than John's. “Soft. I don't feel anything hard inside, but there's a little resistance here that could be a bit of cardboard.” He glanced at her. “I'm guessing there's a pattern to your gifts and it's some sort of proto-garment, still in yarn form.”

“Open it and see.”

He pulled the paper off the yarn, which was subtly shaded in blues and greens. “It's very soft,” Sherlock said, sounding impressed. He found the tag and read it. “Pashmina. Wool, silk, and cashmere.”

“Mrs Hudson said you like luxury fibres,” she said. “I've had this yarn for a while, and I thought it would make a perfect scarf for you. We can pick out a pattern together, though I have a couple in mind.”

Sherlock's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked between the yarn in his hands and the girl who watched him eagerly, and delicately ran his fingers over the yarn. Finally he swallowed, and his voice was hoarse with emotion. “It matches your eyes.”

“And yours.”

He was silent a while longer. “This might be the nicest thing anyone's ever given me.”

John smiled and crossed his arms. “Really.”

Sherlock blinked and visibly returned to the moment. “Well, among the nicest. Certainly one of the most thoughtful. Most people just --”

“He means _thank you_.”

“Yes, very much. Thank you, Alexa.” He stood, she rose to meet him, and they embraced for a moment. “I think it's your turn now.” He picked up a rectangular package in festive paper and handed it to her.

“As big as a book,” she said, turning it over, “but too light. And the mass is unevenly distributed, so something in a package that's mostly air, probably for protection, maybe for presentation. Could be an Apple product but I don't think they have anything that comes in a box this size.” She inspected the handwriting. “And it's from John, so it hasn't been re-packaged.”

“It's from both of us,” John said. “It's just that wrapping always seems to fall to me. Go ahead, open it.  I know you know what it is.”

She pulled off the paper off, and her face lit up with genuine happiness. “It's just the one I wanted!”

Sherlock shared a knowing smile with John. “Of course.”

Alexa opened the box and removed the device. “It's fully charged,” John said, “and it's loaded with a bunch of classics already. Plus, you have some credit in the online shop for some more recent books.”

“It's fantastic!” She was already scrolling through the menu. “Great picks with the classics. I've been meaning to read most of these. And this model can do PDFs easily, so I can put knitting patterns on it too.”

“If I didn't know better I'd say I'd done my research,” John said.

“I helped,” Sherlock said indignantly. “You may not know what to look for in a device, but I do.”

“It's really perfect,” Alexa said, beaming at them. “Thank you so much.”

“I think it's time for another one for John,” Sherlock said, reaching behind him for a very small box in shiny green paper. “This is from me.”

John raised his eyebrows as he took it. “I would say something, but I don't want to jinx it. Thank you.”

“You haven't even opened it yet. Give it a guess first.”

John shook it. “Nothing moving. A bit heavy, though. Not cash in a box, then.”

“You don't have to bring that up every time.”

“Of course I do. That was the most pointless gift ever, since we've been sharing finances for years anyway. At least you learned to actually try after that.”

“Not many people deserve that kind of effort.”

John couldn't help but smile. “Can I stop playing your game and open it?”

“Go on, then.”

John pulled the paper off of the white cardboard box, that looked suspiciously like it came from a jeweller. He raised his eyes to Sherlock's. “You didn't.”

“Open it.”

The lid of the box slid off, and John found himself staring down a pair of silver bands. “Oh my god, you did.”

“Breathe, John.” Sherlock was over the coffee table and on the couch in a moment, and carefully removed one ring. “They're made of tungsten carbide, all but indestructible. Which means you won't be able to change the engraving.”

John took it from him and looked inside. “Property of Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock took it back, but held onto John's hand. “This one's yours. I've never had to guess ring size before but we can exchange if it's wrong.” He slipped it onto John's finger, and smiled when it was apparent that the fit was perfect. “Do me now.”

John remembered to breathe as he pulled the second ring from the box. “Property of John Hamish Watson,” he read, before sliding it onto Sherlock's slim finger. He took a shaky breath. “So I guess this means we're coming out.”

“That's the idea, yes.”

“Right, okay.” John stared at their hands for a long moment. “I don't suppose this occurred to you, but it comes up in A&E sometimes. If you ever bash your hand you need to take it off right away. If your finger swells and it gets stuck, they can't cut it off because it's too hard.”

“I didn't realize you knew about tungsten carbide rings.”

“Mike's told me a few horror stories. Finger amputations tend to stick with you.”

“Shall I take a photo?” Alexa interrupted. “To commemorate the occasion.”

“As long as it doesn't go on the blog,” Sherlock said.

“I'm not dressed,” John protested.

“You look fine. At least you've shaved.”

“At least I'm not _naked_. We're going to discuss that later, by the way.”

“I told you that never happened,” Alexa said sternly as she got out her mobile. “Hold hands or something, to make it cute.”

“I'm not cute,” Sherlock said.

“Yes you are.”  The unison voices silenced him rather remarkably, and he was sporting a genuine smile when Alexa took the picture.

“I'm afraid my gift for you can't measure up to this,” John said, giving Sherlock a gentle push back towards the tree. “Give it a shot anyway.”

Sherlock picked up the last box from the table. “Heavy,” he remarked, and it jingled when he shook it. “That's no fair, packing it with things to throw me off.”

“You have an unfair advantage, therefore it _is_ fair,” John countered. “Keep going with your game.”

He turned the box over, prodding at it. “Cardboard box, somewhat flimsy, and not filled full. Though clearly you've packed around the item itself with rather a lot of coins. Fairly small coins, by the sound of it. But they only rattle off one another, so the other object is soft.” He shook it again, carefully. “Another box, smaller, inside the first. About the size of a packet of cigarettes. Possibly the actual gift, or something else to throw me off.” Sherlock raised it to his nose and inhaled deeply. “The large item is a shirt. Both boxes are packed with old coins, judging by the smell.” He looked up to John. “How did I do?”

“Just open it. You know I hate this.”

Sherlock pulled the paper off, and paused when he saw the box wrapped in clear packing tape. He sighed as he retrieved his knife from the mantle and carefully cut it open. “American pennies,” he said, lifting out a few. “Cigarettes?” He lifted out the smaller box. “Not cigarettes.” He opened the box and poured out more pennies. “And a white dress shirt. The same style as the one that the blood stains won't come out of.”

“I know how you liked that shirt. I wish you'd take a bit more care at the morgue.”

“I didn't realize you couldn't bleach that one,” Sherlock said.

“I _did_ bleach it. It didn't work because you let it sit in the fridge for so long.”

“Never mind, I don't want to know,” Alexa said.

“Why the pennies?”

“There's one for each day since you've last had a cigarette. I had Harry bring them back from her trip to Boston.”

Sherlock's eyes flicked around the collection of change. “There's only about two hundred.”

“Yes, because you had a cigarette that evening Lestrade locked you up.”

“How did you --”

“You think, after all this time, I can't tell? The smell always gets in your hair, and you obviously hadn't showered by the time I came to get you.”

“You smelled my hair?”

“Don't say it like that, you make it sound creepy. The smell was on you but not your coat.”

“All right, but why pennies?”

“They're a promise. Make it a thousand days without smoking, and I'll take you to America.”

“I've been to America.”

“But not with me. It'll be fun. I was thinking New York.”

“New York?”

“Sure. Big city, should find plenty to keep you interested.”

Sherlock ran his fingers through the coins. “Do nicotine patches count?”

John sighed. “No. Nicotine is fine, just keep it out of your lungs.”

“I didn't know you smoke,” Alexa said, a bit startled.

“I don't, not usually. But old habits are hard to break.”

“Ok, we're going to stop this conversation right here,” John said, holding up his hands. “Yes, Sherlock's past is rocky, but that's not who he is any more.”

“Thanks in large part to you, John.” He turned to the table and spoke with more than a little drama. “Oh my, what's this? An envelope addressed to Alexa?” He plucked it from within the tree's branches and gave it to her with a flourish. “This one is from me.”

She turned it over, inspecting closely. “Security envelope. Containing a packet of papers, stapled together.”

“Any guesses?”

“Several.” She worked her thumb under the flap, pulled it open, and removed the papers. Her eyes went wide as she read them through quickly, then looked up at Sherlock. “You're serious?”

“Of course I'm serious.”

She sat back and stared at the papers again. “I … I'll have to think about it.”

“Take your time. It's a big decision.” Sherlock rose to his feet. “John, more coffee?”

 

Later that evening, after Mycroft had left (as quickly as possible after dinner) and Mrs Hudson had retired for the night, John and Alexa were watching a movie on the telly when Sherlock's voice drifted over from his supine position on the couch. “What did you think of my brother?”

Alexa looked up from her knitting and turned towards him. “He was all right. I can see why you don't like him, though. Controlling _and_ a bore.”

Sherlock smirked, but his eyes didn't leave the computer screen. “Good girl. It was generous of him to take a picture, though. I think you startled him.”

“That was the plan.” She rearranged the hat slightly on her head. “How about his face when he opened the hat? I wish I'd taken a photo.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Now _that_ is something I will never delete. It's a rare person who can shock Mycroft into silence.” He looked up from the computer. “It's been very nice having you here. Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?”

She sighed. “I told Gran I'd be back. I'd love to stay a while longer, but I didn't bring enough clothes.”

“We could make a trip to Bristol tomorrow,” John offered. “Ask your Gran if you can stay a bit longer, pick up a few things. I don't have to go in to the clinic until the next day, so we could all go together.”

“Really? Could I stay here until New Year?”

“I don't see why not,” John said.

Sherlock shrugged. “Fine by me. I'll probably get a case, though. One always seems to turn up right after Christmas.”

“Sounds exciting,” Alexa said.

“Ah, no.” John's voice was firm. “It's one thing dragging me into these, but you are _not_ getting your teenage daughter involved in a murder investigation, much less before the guys in charge decide we're fit to be guardians.” He caught Alexa's pout. “Don't give me that. It's completely inappropriate and I'm going to exercise my authority while I still can.”

She sighed and went back to knitting. “Fine, _Mother_.”

John frowned. “We'll have to find something better than that.” He turned back to the telly. “Mother, indeed.”

“To be fair, John --”

“Don't!” He interrupted Sherlock. “I've been emasculated enough for one day.”

 

When the movie finished, Alexa announced she was going to bed. John and Sherlock both hugged her good night, and held each other as she climbed the stairs.

“You really love her, don't you?” John said.

Sherlock nodded, and wrapped both his arms around John. “It's unsettling,” he murmured into sandy hair that was starting to grey.

John took Sherlock's cheek and kissed him gently. “Love often is.”

Sherlock rested his forehead on John's and sighed. “Life would be so much easier without it.”

“But you wouldn't trade it for anything.”

“I wouldn't,” Sherlock agreed, holding John a little tighter. “Should we go to bed, too?”

John pulled back to study Sherlock's face, and didn't miss the glint in his eye. “Twice in one day? I'm not young any more.”

“Age is just a number,” Sherlock said, pressing a demanding kiss to his lips.

John sighed and yielded to the touch. Sherlock groped at his clothes as they stumbled down the hall to the bedroom, and kicked the door shut as soon as they were inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of visual aids for Alexa's gifts to Sherlock and John:
> 
> John's gift: http://images4.ravelrycache.com/uploads/ladymac111/115561761/HPIM4508_medium2.JPG
> 
> Explained: http://images4.ravelrycache.com/uploads/ladymac111/115561799/HPIM4510_medium2.JPG
> 
> Sherlock's yarn: http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/ladymac111/13290817/15738/original.jpg
> 
> John's socks are pretty generic, but inspired by some Regia in my stash (photo is of Patons Kroy Socks in a similar colorway, though Alexa is working from both ends of a single skein whereas mine are made of leftovers). Sherlock's yarn is Madelinetosh Pashmina in Mineral.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be Johnlock smut. It's not a threat, it's a promise.
> 
> Art! Mycroft took a portrait of the three of them: http://archiveofourown.org/works/490978


	7. Happy Christmas - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have Christmas sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING ALERT: This chapter contains (read: exists for) EXPLICIT M/M SEX.
> 
> There is no plot in this chapter. You can skip it if you like.

Sherlock pushed the door shut with his foot and was pressing John into the mattress before he could even breathe. Greedy lips worked his mouth until he was gasping, then attacked his pulse point while nimble fingers worked open the button of John's jeans.

“Jesus, Sherlock, give me a minute!”

“Do keep up, John.” Sherlock's voice was breathy with need as he deftly unbuttoned John's shirt and slid his undershirt up his torso, then dragged his tongue from navel to sternum.

John shuddered as blood rushed to his cock, which was pressed against Sherlock's belly. “Please, let me ...”

“No,” Sherlock rumbled. “You topped this morning. It's my turn now.”

“I just want to take my shirt off.”

“You'll take it off when I say you'll take it off,” Sherlock commanded with a predatory growl.

John's eyes fluttered shut as a cool hand delved into his pants and wrapped around his cock. There was a squeeze and a gasp – he wasn't sure whose – and then Sherlock's lips were on his again, bruising and claiming with surprising ferocity. John's hands found the lapels of his jacket and managed to push it off his shoulders; Sherlock paused to tear it off, and then he was back, nipping and licking while John undid his shirt, then continued to his trousers. Sherlock groaned as John brushed down his length and teased his testicles. “John ...”

“What?”

“Just _John_.” Sherlock wiggled his trousers and pants down to his knees. “Touch me again.”

John repeated the motion, and watched as Sherlock's eyes grew dark and unfocused. “God, you're gorgeous.”

“Not actually god,” Sherlock murmured, and John chuckled.

“Whatever you are, I need you. I want you. Undress me.”

They sat up, Sherlock's legs still tangled in his trousers, and worked together to remove John's shirts before each standing up to strip to the skin. They stood, barely a breath apart, running hands over chests and shoulders and arms and a wide variety of beautiful imperfections. Sherlock shifted his weight, and brushed his hip against John's cock.

John decided it was time to beg. “ _Please_ , Sherlock ...”

“Lie down.”

“Front or back?”

“Back.” Sherlock held him for a moment, running his lips along the top of John's shoulder. “I want to see your face while I fuck you.”

Sherlock released him and John all but fell onto the bed, kicking the blankets out of the way while Sherlock found his favourite lube, then loomed over John with a wicked glint in his eye. “Are you ready for me?”

“Make me ready.”

Cool lubricant warmed quickly in contact with hot skin as Sherlock settled himself slightly off to one side and worked one finger, then two, inside his lover. John squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation, feeling himself already beginning to fray around the edges. A long finger twisted and curled  _just so_ , and John would have leapt off the bed if Sherlock hadn't been holding him down.

“I'm ready,” he panted. “Please Sherlock, I'm ready.”

“Watch me,” Sherlock commanded as he moved to settle between John's thighs.

Heavy eyelids opened, followed the line of bruises from Sherlock's jaw to his groin, and watched as he hurriedly coated himself with lube, and then guided the head of his penis to John's opening.

Their eyes met, and both men worked to hold contact as Sherlock pressed in, slowly, carefully, restrained but crackling with intensity. The stretch was agony and bliss at once. John felt his entire body flushing with lust, his skin on fire, too tight to hold all the sensations he felt.

“I thought ...” he gasped, “you were going to fuck me.”

Sherlock's hips jerked forward, and John's head pressed back into the pillows.

“ _Watch me_ ,” Sherlock growled.

John fought to open his eyes again, to keep them open as Sherlock moved with growing urgency. He wrapped his legs around narrow hips, crossing his ankles at the small of Sherlock's back and angling himself so that each thrust rubbed the spot that made him want to scream. Still he kept watching grey-blue eyes, now glassy and unfocused but still on him as they moved together, ever closer to the precipice.

John tried to get one hand between their bodies, to touch himself, but Sherlock shoved it away and laid his belly atop John. “You'll come like this or not at all,” he said, but the breathy desperation of the words undermined the command.

Still, John couldn't help but give in. He would always do what Sherlock asked, he knew; it seemed like he had always known.

More and more delicious tension gathered low in his belly. He could tell Sherlock was getting close – his breathing was becoming ragged, and his arms were beginning to tremble. The sight of him losing control was almost enough to put John over the edge. “Please,” he begged, not knowing what he was asking. “Please, Sherlock.” He brought both hands to the sides of his face and slid the tips of his fingers into dark hair.

A slight motion, and Sherlock's lips brushed the sensitive skin on the inside of John's wrist. That was all it took, apparently. He was falling, writhing, his world contained in the man atop him who cried out his name as body overrode mind and together they shattered.

Long aeons later, John found himself back in his body, sticky with sweat and the residue of lovemaking, and covered by a long-limbed detective whose breath was warm and moist on his shoulder, and whose heart thudded solidly against his chest.

He brushed an errant curl out of his face, then ran his hands gently down Sherlock's back, over and over, from the nape of his neck to the perfect curve of his buttocks. Life, he reflected, did not get better than this. “Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”

The response was a sleepy mumble, followed by a light snore.

Okay, maybe life was sometimes a little better than being sticky and trapped under Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was exactly 1000 words of porn. It was also a bit odd – I usually prefer John to top, but they switched it around on me. Bastards. Hope you enjoyed that all the same. We're back to PG family shenanigans next chapter.


	8. A Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa finds out that the work always comes first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst in this chapter, because Sherlock is Sherlock. Sorry.

Their trip to Bristol to get more of Alexa's things went smoothly enough, John thought. Her grandmother had frowned when she noticed Sherlock and John's rings, but hadn't said anything about it. When they had left, Alexa had breathed a sigh of relief and explained that she was always that prickly. John could see why she was eager to move out – the old woman was very particular, and very grouchy when things didn't go her way.

They got back to Baker Street early in the evening and had leftovers for dinner, before making plans to spend the evening together in front of the telly watching _Iron Man_ and picking apart the inconsistencies.

Sherlock's phone rang while John was making popcorn, and he went into their room to answer it. A few minutes later he emerged.

“John, get your coat, we're going.” Sherlock blew through the kitchen, thumbs tapping madly on his phone.

John gave up his search for a popcorn bowl and turned in time to see Sherlock pull his coat on and go out into the hall. “What? Why?”

“That was Lestrade,” came the response. “Got a case. Found a fresh body, only dead a couple hours, no ID, no clear cause of death. Come on, there's a cab waiting.”

“Now wait just a minute!” John strode angrily to the door, but his outrage was diminished by the fact that Sherlock was already halfway down the stairs and watching him expectantly.

“But we were going to watch a movie!” Alexa was behind John's shoulder, and Sherlock's steely gaze softened just a little when it landed on her.

“Go ahead and watch it,” he said. “We've seen it before.”

“That's not the point,” she complained, but her expression shifted from petulance to apprehension as Sherlock came back up the steps and used his height to full advantage.

“Alexa,” he said firmly, “I've told you: this is my job. And the work _always_ comes first. It always has, and it always will.” He shifted his focus to John. “Get your coat. I need you.”

John felt like he was being torn in two, but he pulled his coat from its hook and shrugged it on. “I'm sorry,” he said to Alexa, who looked like she might cry. “But this is what we do. We have to go.”

“When will you be back?”

John bit his lip. “Never can tell. I'll try not to be too late though, I've got work at the surgery tomorrow.” He laid a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it away. “Mrs Hudson is home if you need anything, or if you want to watch with her.”

She nodded mutely, and John followed Sherlock down the stairs and into the waiting cab. Once they were in and Sherlock had given the cabbie their destination, he let his frustration out. “That was a terrible thing to do to Alexa.”

Sherlock was absorbed in his phone again. “It was necessary.”

John's rage flared, and he snatched the device from Sherlock's hands. “You could have handled it better!”

“How?” Sherlock demanded. “By letting her tag along? I didn't think you approved of that. Especially for this one; the victim is a young woman, and apparently still warm as of half an hour ago.”

“Of course not!” John spat. “But you don't have to be so cold! We abandoned her.”

“Mrs Hudson is there, she's not alone.”

“You know what I mean,” John said.

“This is one of those _politeness_ things, isn't it?” Sherlock said. “Where I'm supposed to go through the pointless motions of social niceties.”

“Yes, it is one of those _politeness things_. It's also a not-being-a-dick thing. Most people at least show a little regret when they break plans with someone they like.”

“I'm not _most people_.” Sherlock grabbed his phone back. “You know that better than anyone.”

It was the same old argument, but like every time before, John knew it was true. He let out a sigh that was equal parts defeat and disappointment. “You said you loved her. I guess I thought you meant it, that she was special to you. Like I am.”

Sherlock's fingers stilled, and his voice was softer. “No one is like you, John.”

“Could she be? Do you actually, genuinely care about her? Or were you lying?”

Sherlock was quiet for a long time. “I don't know.”

John turned to watch London go past, and his heart ached.


	9. Attached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long night and a lot of thinking, Sherlock can finally articulate what Alexa means to him.

It was a bit past midnight when John returned to Baker Street, still buzzing with adrenaline and wishing he hadn't had to leave the chase. The case was progressing quickly – he had no doubt Sherlock would have it in the bag by dawn – but he needed to sleep before his shift at the clinic.

He climbed the seventeen steps to the quiet flat. The grate was cold, and the only light left on was the one above the sink in the kitchen, where the dishes were clean and drying in the rack.

John hung up his jacket, then carefully climbed the stairs to the second story bedroom. The door was ajar, and Alexa shifted in bed as he pushed it open enough to poke his head in.

“Dad?”

“No, it's me,” John said. “I'm home now, just checking in. Need anything?”

“No.” Alexa rubbed her eyes with one hand and half sat up. “What time is it?”

John checked his phone. “Quarter past midnight. Go back to sleep. I'll be up about six and leaving for work at seven, if you want to … you know, have breakfast.”

“What about Dad?”

John sighed. “Can't say. But I'll let you know when I hear from him.”

“Okay.” Alexa laid back down again and pulled the blankets up to her chin. “Good night, John.”

“Good night.” He turned away from the door, and the exhaustion hit him as he made his way back down the stairs and through the kitchen, switching off the light as he went. Sherlock wasn't coming home that night. He changed quickly into his pyjamas, brushed his teeth, and crawled into the big, empty bed that still smelled like sex. He stared at his phone in the dark, willing it to ring, and it was a long time before sleep came to him.

 

John ended up staying at the clinic for two hours after he was scheduled to have left, and five hours after his phone battery died while he was hastily replying to Sherlock's text between patients. “Lestrade needs your statement,” was all it said. John was all set to give Sherlock the full force of his sleep-deprived wrath when the phone beeped angrily and turned off. John all but banged his head on the counter – of course last night would be the one time he forgot to plug the bloody thing in to charge.

He finally made it home, exhausted and hungry and still angry at Sherlock, but all of that faded a little when he opened the door and heard the violin music coming from upstairs. It was a piece he wasn't familiar with, and was unsure what that said about Sherlock's mood.

He froze when he entered the sitting room and the musician was not Sherlock at all, but Alexa. She glanced at him and smiled, pausing in her playing. “Welcome home. I figured you'd be hungry so I opened some soup and put it on. It should be warm by now.”

“Uh, thanks,” he said, and kicked himself mentally. _Stupid!_ “Is Sherlock back?”

“Yeah,” she brought the violin – Sherlock's violin, he noticed – back to her shoulder. “Got home about an hour ago complaining that you weren't answering your phone.”

“Yeah,” John said, fishing it out of his pocket. “Battery died.”

“Hm.” Alexa plucked at a string absent-mindedly. “I think he's taking a nap; he looked really worn down, and it's been quiet in there. You should go wake him and we'll have lunch.” She put bow to strings and returned her attention to the music.

John hung his coat on its peg, and cautiously went to the bedroom and opened the door. Sure enough, Sherlock was sprawled on the bed, fast asleep, and still fully dressed but for his shoes which lay on the floor beside the bed, clearly kicked off carelessly.

John sat and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock twitched and his eyes snapped open, then blinked groggily. “John?”

“Yeah. Just got home from the surgery.”

“Thought your shift was only until noon.”

“Ran long.”

Sherlock sat up, and scowled at his wrinkled clothes. “Too busy to answer my calls?”

John sighed. “You know I can't take personal calls when I'm at work. And besides, my phone battery died.” He held up the offending gadget, then walked over to the bureau to plug it in. “So how was your night? Get everything figured out?”

Sherlock was up, and traded his jacket for his wool dressing gown. “It was fairly simple, in the end.” He yawned. “A bit tedious, really.” A pause. “Alexa's playing my violin.”

“Yes, she is. And she's heating up some tinned soup for lunch. Come eat with us.”

Within five minutes they were all sitting around the table together, eating halfway decent minestrone with bread left over from Christmas. Alexa convinced Sherlock to tell her about the night's case, and Sherlock barely needed any prodding to launch into a dramatic recollection of the adventure. He was still going strong when John collected their dishes and took them to the sink, then put the kettle on. The soup had been good, but nothing brought him back after a rough day like a good cup of tea. He halfway listened to Sherlock's story – now into the bits he hadn't been there for – and the tale ended just as he brought the tea into the sitting room.

“That was a big night!” Alexa said. “Are you going to write it up on your blog, John?”

He shrugged, and took a sip of the brew. “Maybe. Certainly not right now. And Sherlock, I did get one text, you said Lestrade wants a statement from me?”

“I convinced him it could wait until later, though I expect he'll pop around later this afternoon.”

John groaned and held his mug a little tighter. “I really wish I didn't have to deal with any more of this today. I'm exhausted.”

“Why?” Sherlock prodded. “You weren't out very late at all.”

“I … I didn't sleep well,” John admitted. “I was mad – I'm still mad at you, a bit.”

Sherlock's brow furrowed. “Mad at me?”

Alexa stood up suddenly. “I'll just let you --”

“No,” John interrupted, but caught himself and softened his voice. “No, Alexa, it's all right, you can stay. Please do, in fact. Since we're all here and it's come up, we ought to talk about this.”

Alexa sat back down, and she and Sherlock shared an uneasy look. John almost laughed. “It's about how we ran off last night. I felt really bad leaving you here, and Sherlock, I think you know why I'm mad.”

Sherlock's expression shifted and he stared into his tea. “It was insensitive of me,” he murmured. “I'm used to dashing off with John. I'm used to him being the only person who really matters.” He blushed a little, not taking his eyes off the mug. “I spent all last night thinking about that. And I do really feel … something. Not good. About leaving you like we did. Because I do care about you. You matter.”

Alexa turned bright red. “I … um, thanks,” she stammered. “And I totally get that your work is really important, so that's, you know. Okay. That you had to go. But, with the caring, we hardly know each other. This is just … you know. Sudden?”

Sherlock shook his head, and he sported a wry smile when he raised his eyes to hers. “It isn't that simple. It's never been that simple. It's true we haven't known each other long, but I seem to have … a pattern. There's a way that you and John are very similar. When we met, I knew almost right away that he was special. Well, I didn't know at the time how special. But I knew he was different, and it was refreshing, and I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. I was drawn to him. Without wanting to, or meaning to, I got very attached, very quickly. And I think something similar has happened with you.”

Alexa looked like she was trying to talk, but no words came out. She took a drink of tea instead.

John cleared his throat. “I have to admit, I think something similar has happened to me. And I really don't want to frighten you off with this, so don't take it the wrong way. But I really like you.” He looked at Sherlock, and they shared a relieved smile. “We both really like you. We're just having trouble adjusting, you know? It's all very sudden and unexpected.”

“We want to be part of your life,” Sherlock said. “If you'll let us. I know things will never be perfect, but we'll give it our best shot.”

Alexa finally relaxed, and gave them a small smile. “Are you saying you want me to live here with you?”

“It's too soon to say for sure,” John said quickly, before Sherlock could speak. “But I'd say things are looking good.”

She grinned. “Then I suppose it's about time I stopped pretending I like sweet milky tea so you can make mine right!”

John's jaw dropped, and Sherlock laughed.

“I suppose he thought I'd take it the way you do,” she said.

“Of course he did,” Sherlock answered, taking her cup and breezing into the kitchen. “Though clearly you take your tea unsweetened, with just a drop of milk.”

Alexa's eyes flicked to John. “How does he know?”

John just shrugged. “Same way he knows everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the resolution to go! For the main body of the story, anyway. I expect I'll be writing more little stories about Alexa (like the one that originally came to me in the dream), and they'll get posted in the supplemental material series when they happen.


	10. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa officially moves in to 221B Baker Street.

John set down the box inside the door of Alexa's room, and stretched with a wince. “How many books do you _have_?”

Alexa looked over from where she was busy arranging paperbacks on a shelf and shrugged. “I don't know. Lots.”

“I thought the point of getting an e-reader was so you wouldn't have as many physical books.”

“These are all special,” she said, coming over and peering into the box before nudging it across the floor with her foot.

“Oh, really.”

“Yes.”

John sat on the bed and watched as she continued arranging her new shelves. A breeze came through the open window, and he sighed in relief. “Where's your father, anyway? I'm a war hero,  _he_ should be the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“Last I saw, he was in the kitchen arguing with Uncle Mycroft. Something about biohazards.”

John rolled his eyes. “I don't know why Mycroft bothers. I gave up that fight years ago.”

“Exactly,” she said. “You've done just fine with his experiments, and I'm not stupid. Even if you hadn't given me a crash course in navigating the kitchen at Christmas, I think I would probably be able to avoid poisoning myself.”

John looked around the room as Alexa focused on her books again. They had begun redecorating the room as soon as the paperwork had cleared, which came surprisingly quickly after they had finally put in the application in March. John suspected Mycroft had something to do with the expediency, but he wasn't going to bring it up. He was just glad that everything had gone smoothly, and as soon as her school had finished for the summer, they had started moving Alexa into her new home in Baker Street.

The first thing they had done was to repaint the room, from a dingy beige to a pale lavender with darker plum trim. Sherlock had proven himself quite adept with a paint roller, and the two Holmeses had the entire room complete in a single day. The curtains had gone next, and the windows now sported layers of white gossamer as well as blackout shades.

Finally they tackled the furniture issue. The bed and chest of drawers were in fine shape, but Alexa needed her own set of shelves (the ones downstairs were completely packed with Sherlock's things), a wardrobe (John's had been moved downstairs during the event he liked to think of as The Great Combining), and she had declared the rickety old desk unsuitable. The three of them had spent a harrowing day at Ikea choosing furniture. It had been harrowing for John, at least – Alexa and Sherlock had both been utterly delighted by the showrooms and spent hours discussing minute details while John tried to act like he didn't know them and occasionally escaped to the cafe. The worst bit had been when they made it into the bedroom section of the store, and Sherlock decided to try out all the mattresses. “John! Come lie on this and tell me what you think. I've been thinking our mattress could use an upgrade, do you agree?”

John had scowled at him. “You've been thinking no such thing. And since when do you care about the quality of our mattress? You sleep like you're dead no matter where you are.”

“I had no idea there was such a variety!” Sherlock said, eyes bright with excitement. “And you've been complaining about your back, a new mattress could help with that. And maybe it would be quieter too. I determined that most of the noise is actually from the springs in our mattress, and not the bed frame itself. It's rather sturdy, actually. I realized that yesterday when you had me--”

“Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence,” John hissed, going bright red and jabbing a finger into Sherlock's bony sternum. Alexa was in a model room nearby, ignoring them so pointedly it seemed to draw even more attention. The other shoppers were eyeing them warily.

Sherlock blinked at him as understanding dawned. “Oh, public place. Sorry.”

John sighed and sat on the bed. “A new mattress would be nice, though. God only knows how old that one is. Did it come with the flat?”

“Yes, along with the rest of the furniture,” Sherlock said, now inspecting another mattress before bouncing lightly on it. “I don't suppose Mrs Hudson would mind if we replaced it, do you?”

And so it was that they eventually returned home with a wardrobe, a large bookcase, a computer desk, an office chair, an armchair, several cushions, three lamps, an area rug, and a memory foam pillowtop mattress that it had taken two hours and three salespeople to get Sherlock to finally settle on. Somehow everything had fit into the car Mycroft had loaned them (John feared to think what Sherlock had traded for that favour), and they had stayed up half the night assembling – and then re-assembling – the furniture. John fell into bed exhausted, and was on the verge of thanking Sherlock for insisting on the new mattress, but was sound asleep before his husband came back from brushing his teeth two minutes later.

Once the furniture was in place, all that remained was to actually move Alexa's things in. Once again Mycroft had provided a car, and by mid-afternoon everything had at least made it inside the front door of 221. John was eager to clear out the foyer, but the day was hot and getting even more humid as evening drew in, and his shoulder was starting to bother him.

“Must be a storm coming in,” he said, and Alexa made an interested noise as she stood up with an armful of books.

“How can you tell?”

“Pressure's dropping. Makes my shoulder hurt.”

“Hm.” Alexa smiled. “Gran always said she could tell a storm coming with her knees, but she was only right half the time.”

“She only predicted half the storms that came, or only half of her predictions turned out to be storms?”

“Some of column A, some of column B.” Alexa stood back and looked at her shelves. “Do you think textbooks up here in the middle, or down low?”

“Put them on the bottom,” Sherlock said, entering the room with Mycroft close behind. “It's more stable.” He sat down on the bed beside John. “You're sweaty.”

“That's because I've been working, carrying heavy boxes up from downstairs. Unlike certain other people in the room.”

Sherlock flopped backwards, and pulled John with him. “It's too hot to work.”

“Still has to be done.”

Mycroft shuffled his feet. “I believe I'll leave you to it, then. Good evening.”

“Goodbye,” John said, sitting back up.

Alexa chimed in half-heartedly, and Sherlock just closed his eyes and sighed as his brother went down the steps. “Here we are,” he finally said. “You're official now. Part of the family.”

“Pretty surreal,” Alexa said. She slid a dictionary onto the shelf and flopped on the bed, antiparallel to Sherlock so that their shoulders touched. “As much as I've been here over the past six months, buying all the new furniture and having my things here makes it feel totally different.”

“Different in a good way?”

Alexa smiled and rubbed her shoulder against his. “Definitely good. It finally feels like home, instead of just a place where I'm staying.”

“It's probably about time you and John worked out what you're going to call him, then,” Sherlock said. “As of last week we're your legal guardians. You still feel funny calling him by his name?”

“Yeah, it's too … I don't know, disrespectful,” she said. “It hasn't been too bad so far, talking about you with Marie. She follows the blog too, you know.”

“What am I to her?”

“Doctor Watson.” Alexa winced. “It's awfully formal, but that's how she was brought up. I've only just got her to stop calling Dad 'Mr Holmes' all the time. When we talk about you, it's either 'Doctor Watson' or 'my dad's husband', but that's too many words.”

John chuckled. “And I hope I'm a bit more than that to you.”

“You are,” she said earnestly. “And that's why it's so hard. You're as much my family now as Dad is, even if it wasn't official with the marriage and everything. And when school starts up, I don't want to have to explain to everyone 'oh, yeah, so I moved to London to live with my biological father and his partner, and they didn't know about me until my mum died and she had sent a letter to my father asking him if he would look after me.' That makes it sound like you don't matter, or like you're just some bloke he's shagging and I don't approve of you.”

“Quite a dilemma,” John agreed.

“You couldn't call us both Dad?” Sherlock asked.

Alexa thought about it. “No,” she finally said. “I've only got one Dad, and it's you. For a while I didn't have any, and I think one is the right number.”

“You know people are going to refer to us collectively as your dads,” John said.

“That's fine as a generic term,” Alexa said, “but I can't call you by the same thing.”

“So we're looking for something more respectful than 'John', less formal than 'Doctor Watson', but 'Dad' is taken,” Sherlock summarized.

“Daddy?” John suggested.

Alexa snorted. “Maybe if I was  _five_ .” She rolled over and poked Sherlock in the ribs. “What did you call your dad?”

“Sir, most of the time,” Sherlock said bitterly. “Father when he was in a good mood, or when we were talking about him. Mummy tried for a while to get us to call him Daddy, but he wouldn't have it. And of course, by then Mycroft felt he was too old for that sort of thing.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Alexa said. “Too old for daddy, but you're both grown men and you still call your mother Mummy?”

“You've met her,” Sherlock said. “We didn't have a choice in the matter, and after a while it's just who she is.”

They were quiet for a while longer, when suddenly it came to John. “What about Papa?”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Isn't that dreadfully posh?”

“ _You're_ dreadfully posh,” Alexa retorted, brushing his hair off his forehead. “And it only sounds bad if you say it like, 'Oh, Pa _pa_ , how lovely to see you this afternoon, will you be joining us for tea in the garden?'”

John couldn't help but laugh, and even Sherlock cracked a genuine smile. “I don't think I'd realize you were trying to talk to me if you said it like that.”

“Papa,” Alexa said, experimentally. “Papa?” She crawled over and set her chin on his shoulder, then shifted to sit back-to-back. “Papa, Papa, Papa.”

“Papa-Papa-Papageno!” Sherlock sang lightly, and he and Alexa promptly dissolved in a fit of giggles.

John furrowed his brow. “Wait, what? What was that?”

“Just a bit of Mozart,” Alexa said, catching her breath.

“From _Die Zauberfl_ _ö_ _te_ ,” Sherlock explained. “Papageno is a bird-man.”

“I'm not sure I like the sound of that.”

Sherlock put his hand on John's knee and gave him a little squeeze. “It's nothing bad. The worst that can be said is he's boring and predictable. You'll have to watch it sometime.”

“I've got a DVD of it, somewhere,” Alexa said, bouncing off the bed and rummaging through a crate next to the bookcase. “We could watch it tonight.”

“An opera? I'm not sure I'm cultured enough for that.”

“It's a farce, you'll love it,” Sherlock said. “It's entirely frivolous, though musically it's excellent.”

“Aha! Knew I had it.” Alexa pressed the case into John's hand and gave him a peck on the cheek. “What do you say, Papa?”

He smiled at her. “You know, I think I could get used to that.”

“I meant the opera.”

“You're impossible!” He reached out to pull her into a hug, but she darted away with an impish grin. “She's definitely _your_ daughter,” he said to Sherlock.

“I think not, Papa,” Sherlock said, sitting up and snaking an arm around his waist. “She is most certainly _our_ daughter. We'd be lost without you.”

“Stop being so cute,” Alexa teased. “I'm hungry. Can we get pizza for dinner?”

“Fine by me,” John said. “You going to eat, Sherlock?”

“I want extra cheese this time,” Sherlock said. “You can have a salad if you're worried about your lipids.” He stood and lent an arm as John got stiffly to his feet. “Is your leg bothering you?”

“A bit, yeah,” John admitted as they went downstairs. “It's not the limp though, don't worry about that. I think I did something funny to my hip while we were moving furniture yesterday, and the pressure's dropping right now. I think we'll get a storm tonight.”

“What about your shoulder?”

John narrowed his eyes. “I don't know what you're getting at, but I'm on to you. What's your motive?”

Sherlock blocked the door to the sitting room, where Alexa was already on the phone with their favourite pizza place. “You're sweaty, and I'm a bit warm,” he said, his voice soft and deep in a way that made John's skin tingle. “I think we have time for a shower before the pizza gets here.”

John licked his lips, and didn't miss the fact that Sherlock's pupils dilated as he watched. “I think we do.” He pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips before ducking around him. “Alexa?”

She had just put the phone down. “Papa.”

John grinned and gave Sherlock a gentle shove towards the back of the flat. “We're going to shower.” He got out his wallet and handed her a few notes. “This should cover the pizza. Let us know when it gets here, okay?”

Her expression moved quickly through confusion to horror. “You're – no!”

“John!” Sherlock called. “Hurry up!”

“Just put on some music?” he suggested, making his way through the kitchen.

“If you don't hear from me in half an hour, it means I've _died_ of _embarrassment!_ ” Alexa said. “And I'm not going to take the blame when Mrs Hudson complains about hearing _American Idiot_ again!”

“It's fine, thanks!” He gave her his best smile before ducking into the bathroom, and the opening guitar riff played just as he dropped his last piece of clothing on top of the heap in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! I hope you've enjoyed this ride as much as I have, and I'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> I do plan to write more about this little family, though I can't promise any posting schedule as Real Life is going to get very busy soon. But I don't think Alexa will leave me alone -- there's a lot going on with her!
> 
> And a bit of light music: Papageno's duet with Papagena, the bird-woman: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OL7YF0Djruk


End file.
